He took the cigar out of his mouth and studied it intently, then popped it back in again.

“As I was saying, Hiram, that’s the difference in us. You can do the stuff, but you miss the possibilities. I can’t do a thing, but I can organize it once the thing is done. Before we get through with this, you’ll be wading in twenty-dollar bills clear up to your knees.”

“But I don’t have—”

“Don’t worry. Just leave it all to me. I’ve got the plant and whatever money we may need. We’ll figure out a split.”

“That’s fine of you,” said Taine mechanically.

“Not at all,” Henry insisted, grandly. “It’s just my aggressive, grasping sense of profit. I should be ashamed of myself, cutting in on this.”

He sat on the keg, smoking and watching the TV perform in exquisite color.

“You know, Hiram,” he said, “I’ve often thought of this, but never got around to doing anything about it. I’ve got an old computer up at the plant that we will have to junk because it’s taking up room that we really need. It’s one of our early models, a sort of experimental job that went completely sour. It sure is a screwy thing. No one’s ever been able to make much out of it. We tried some approaches that probably were wrong—or maybe they were right, but we didn’t know enough to make them quite come off. It’s been standing in a corner all these years and I should have junked it long ago. But I sort of hate to do it. I wonder if you might not like it—just to tinker with.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Taine.

Henry assumed an expansive air. “No obligation, mind you. You may not be able to do a thing with it—I’d frankly be surprised if you could, but there’s no harm in trying. Maybe you’ll decide to tear it down for the salvage you can get. There are several thousand dollars’ worth of equipment in it. Probably you could use most of it one way or another.”

“It might be interesting,” conceded Taine, but not too enthusiastically.